On Monday, the second day of the sporadic hurricane, Junior Goodwinter, the managing editor of the paper, called.
"The way it looks, no paper tomorrow, but a skeleton crew is on call, and we might put out a Hurricane Edition - just a few pages with emergency news. We see it as a collector's item, a sort of historical document."
"Is there anything I can do, Junior?"
"You might write a short ?Qwill Pen' piece about Cool Koko's reaction to the hurricane - something to make readers smile."
Judd Amhurst called from Winston Park. "Lucky to be out there, Qwill. Will you tell Polly that we rescued Dundee from the bookstore, and he's staying with Peggy? Rudy is with me, keeping his head while all the rest of us are losing ours."
Hixie Rice called. "Glad you made it back to the condo, Qwill. Most of us are sitting it out at the clubhouse." (He thought, Getting sloshed.)
He said, "Too bad about the parade."
Then Polly called to remark that the wind had quieted a little. Qwilleran told her the good news about Dundee.
"Wait a minute! There's a death notice on the radio!" In a minute she returned. "Doris Ledfield died tonight! Following a respiratory infection! I'll hang up in case they broadcast more details."
Before she could call back, Maggie Sprenkle phoned.
"Qwill, I feel awful! I was so elated yesterday after the auction, and now I feel terrible! First I heard about dear Doris's passing on the radio, and I couldn't believe it! No one knew she was that ill! But when I called the Old Manse to talk to Nathan, the nurse said he was quite ill himself and couldn't speak to anyone!" She stopped to sob. "Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this, Qwill, but I must talk to someone!"
"I understand, Maggie," he said. "Consider me a member of the family."
After a few more tears she felt the strength to go on.
"We were very close - the Sprenkles and the Ledfields - and Nathan once told Jeremy and me in our rose garden, when Doris was having one of her setbacks, that he couldn't live without her. And if anything happened to her, life would have no meaning. He could not go on alone.
"We mumbled words of sympathy and affection, but I have always been haunted by that recollection. I can't help wondering if he'll do something rash. . . ." She burst into tears again.
"It's understandable, Maggie. It was right to share it with me. Have a cup of tea, and remember what Jeremy would say."
"You're right, Qwill. Thank you so much." As she hung up, he could hear one more painful wail.
Koko had been listening, and he rushed around growling before throwing back his head and uttering what Qwilleran had come to know as his death howl.
Before the night was over, Qwilleran's phone rang frequently, as friends felt it their duty to keep him informed:
"The Road Commission is telling drivers to stay off the highway, Qwill."
"The worst is the Bloody Creek Bridge."
"The commission has been promising to fix that death-trap for years. They've had five accidents; how many do they have to have before they act? What am I paying my taxes for?"
That was Junior Goodwinter.
Qwilleran's phone rang repeatedly. Everyone wanted to talk. He had a feeling of foreboding. Even the cats were edgy.
Later Wetherby called.
"Did you hear about the accident at Bloody Creek Bridge? Name withheld. I called the Station, and one of my buddies told me the name of the driver . . . Liz Hart!"
"Where was Derek?"
"They drive separate cars; they work different hours. After working late as maître d', he'll sometimes bunk on a cot at the restaurant so he can do early shopping for groceries the next morning."
"What was she doing on the Bloody Creek Bridge? That's north of here?" Qwilleran asked.
"Interesting question."
"Did the newsbite tell whether the car was traveling north or south?"
"They never give details."
Qwilleran speculated, "If she was northbound, she was going to the Lanspeaks. They live in the Hummocks, and they've been like godparents to both Liz and Derek. And Diane Lanspeak is probably Liz's doctor. . . . If we don't hear any further details, I suppose we could check with them, Joe."
"Liz would want you to know, Qwill. She says you saved her life on Grand Island and were responsible for her coming to Moose County and meeting Derek Cuttlebrink. I understand she comes from a very wealthy family in Chicago, but she was glad to get away from them. Fortunately, she had money from her deceased father."
"Is that so?" Qwilleran murmured, although he knew more than Wetherby did. "Liz gave me an antique chair that belonged to her father. Sitting in it is supposed to improve your intelligence."
"I should borrow it," Wetherby said. "Does it sound as if the wind is picking up again? I'd better go and hold Jet Stream's paw."
Chapter 17
After a bad night, Qwilleran prepared breakfast for two nervous cats. They huddled side by side with their legs tucked under their bodies.
As Qwilleran prepared their food, he entertained them with a few observations from Jerome K. Jerome, whose needs were satisfied with a homely home, small pleasures, one or two friends, a pipe to smoke, a cat, a dog, enough to eat, and enough to drink.
The Siamese regarded each other questioningly. Then Koko bit Yum Yum gently on the back of the neck. She liked it.
Next the phone rang. This time it was Clarissa. "Qwill, have you heard the news on WPKX? Doris Ledfield has died! I had no idea she was so ill! I feel I should do something, but I don't know what."
Qwilleran felt uncomfortable himself but could think of nothing comforting to say. "Maggie Sprenkle was Doris's closest friend," he said, "and she's a total wreck. Perhaps you could call her and commiserate. It might help you both."
They hung up, and almost immediately Clarissa called again. "I forgot to tell you, Qwill, Vicki called from California this morning. Isabella slept on her pillow. She loves that kitten! Vicki was sorry she didn't meet you, Qwill. She left a note for Polly to give you."
Qwilleran thought, Note . . . note . . . where is it? To Clarissa he said, "I'll drop Vicki a line as soon as the turmoil subsides."
After Clarissa's call, he began to wonder about that note. He had put it in his coat pocket at the bookstore. It was probably hanging in his closet. It was still at the barn and would remain there for a while.
He was sitting at the dining table that served as a desk at the condo. His papers were there. His phone was there. His old typewriter was there. His copier was there. And suddenly Koko was there, scattering desk clutter.
"Down!" he shouted, and Koko dashed out of sight.
That smart cat had made his point! Among the papers was Vicki's letter. It had not been left in his coat pocket. He added it to a stack of things-to-do.
Tuesday was his usual day for transacting K Fund business with the attorney. He phoned Bart at home.
There followed the predictable weather talk:
"How's the weather out there?" Qwilleran asked. "And how bad are the roads?"
"Not bad. The creek's running a little high, and everyone's disappointed about the parade. My kids were to be on one of the floats and so were my wife's prize peonies. . . . Are you printing a paper tomorrow?"
"We plan to. Can you get here for our regular meeting? I'm at the condo, not the barn."
"Be there at ten-thirty. I suppose you heard the bad news about Nathan Ledfield's wife?"
"Too bad. I never met her, but I hear she was charming."
"Yes, and my wife says she played the piano like an angel! When she accompanied Nathan on the violin, it was . . . what shall I say? . . . too good for Moose County. (Don't quote me.) Enough of this chitchat. I sound as if I have cabin fever. I probably do. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow."